Scar Tissue
by 8belles
Summary: Seeley looks into his past by what is on his skin. A short


Scar Tissue

There was no alarm today; it was Saturday. Sunlight softly streamed through the gauzy curtains of his room gently suffusing the air with golden light. His eyes cracked and realized dawn had come. Rolling over, he glanced at the clock: 8:00am.

Stretching languorously, various popping and snapping noises were heard from his body. Getting old, Ranger, he chided himself absently, relishing in the feeling of his bones moving and blood flowing. The only thing missing was another warm particular body besides him. That small, fleeting thought threatened to grow into a cloud over his happy start to the day. He shoved it aside as he swung his legs over the mattress and pushed his body upward to meet the sun.

He could hear his coffee maker in the other room perking away the magic elixir that would always clear his head and jumpstart his morning. But first, he moved to the bathroom for his morning maintenance.

The man who greeted him this morning looked pretty much like he always did. Same close cut hair, same clear, deep brown eyes. The straight nose, the angular cheek bones and his well proportioned mouth. Booth ran a hand through his sleep rumpled hair, still dark brown, although Bones had commented a few days ago she saw a silver hair in there somewhere. If that were true, he didn't see it, therefore it did not exist.

Seeley took a long look at his face and noticed the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. He hadn't earned those until relatively recently since he'd been out of the service and most of all out of his father's house. His mind wandered back to the source of those lines. Bones was his answer. She always gave him something to smile about and if her friendship carved lines into his skin, he'd gladly take every one and wear it as a badge of honor.

Even more closely he peered into the mirror and saw things he didn't like. Worry, stress and sleep deprivation had left their mark too. He frowned into the mirror and saw how deeply the horizontal lines crossed his forehead. There were lines also around his mouth that signaled too much anguish and pain. These were highways of despair and hurting. He flashed back to the body of Teddy after the botched sniper attempt. His back arched in an unnatural angle, face turned away from Booth. The spotlight of the hovering medical helicopter flickering around them cast a bizarre pallor over the ground and the corpse, like some macabre light show at a dance club. Booth remembered not being able to look at the young soldier after death. He just sat there and let the thought sink into him and into his skin.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he cast his eyes into the bowl of the sink as if the white porcelain would wash his sins away like the baptismal font at church. It's not your fault, he even told you himself, Booth thought briefly as he inhaled a breath.

The warm brown eyes looked back at him, forgivingly. He smiled in spite of himself. Sweets would have a field day in my head right now; he chuckled to himself and brushed his teeth.

Before he shaved, he turned one cheek to the mirror and then the other, his palm moving carefully over his face, reminding him where to exercise caution because of scars.

Scars, he thought, how many do I have? Metaphorical or literal? Wow, he was on a squint roll today, he rolled his eyes at himself

He stepped back from the looking glass to admire himself for moment and count his scars. Booth reached up to touch the back of his head. A small bump of granulated tissue was there camouflaged beneath his hair. Tricycle accident- age three. That one had practically scared his mother to death. She thought he had bashed his brains out on the driveway after he had double dog dared the neighbors kid he could pop a wheelie on his trike.

Looking farther, he saw a small vertical cut on his left shoulder, near his neck. Seeley thought for a moment, oh yeah, he recalled, Jared and I were playing Star Wars after church and he whacked me with his light saber. The only problem was the "light saber" was the six foot whip of a willow branch and had done short work of Seeley's skin. He recalled his father was not pleased blood had gotten on one of his son's few white dress shirts and that it had been ripped. Booth found he was frowning and stopped. No bad thoughts today, he reminded himself.

The inventory took him through his childhood, through high school football and hockey. The only problem was with hockey gear on, you didn't tend to scar up. Break bones, yes, his x-ray file was chocked full of x-rays so that if something happened, Tempe would have no trouble at all identifying him just from his bones.

He paused. There was that specter again. He looked ceiling-ward and asked quietly, what is up with the thoughts of death today!? But his eyes were drawn down to the mirror again.

Shirtless, he saw the rest of his history. Afghanistan, the bullet grazing wounds, the shrapnel pock marks littering his skin, just barely visible unless you owned them or were very close.

What he considered his _piece de resistance_ of his collection was the last scar he saw. The gun shot from the karaoke bar. Perched almost delicately above his right pectoral muscle and under the collar bone, ribs three and four were cracked when the bullet passed through. The scar was nearly a perfect circle as all bullet wounds are when entering. They leave quite an impression on their way out however. His fingers reached up to lightly graze his skin. The scar was not one of his largest or most noticeable, unless you looked at his back exit wound.

What made this scar so memorable was he remembered Temperance above him, hand pressed with all her weight to stop the bleeding, pleading with him not to give in.

He remembered thinking relief that she was safe and how much he was going to miss her and that he never told her what he had been meaning to say for so long.

The warm feeling of blood and the look of terror on her face was etched into his memory. Seeley recalled clutching her other hand, as if for reassurance that yes, it would be alright.

Booth dropped his eyes again in chagrin. He'd told her since, but it hadn't moved in the direction he anticipated. She was a stubborn woman, that one, but worth the wait.

He gathered his razor and shaving cream, while running the water to get it warm. Temperance Brennan, he thought affectionately, what am I going to do with you? Or are you going to scar me all up? He began to shave and no sooner than he put a blade to his skin, he nicked himself.

Cursing, he put the razor down and got a tissue for his face. I hope that's not a literal answer, he thought to himself. A quick decision was made to forego shaving and just a shower. Maybe Brennan would be up and willing for some breakfast.

After toweling off, he called her, " Hey Bones."

" Yes?", she replied neutrally as she always did on the weekends since work didn't usually follow them to those days.

" How about breakfast? You can drive.", he said with a twinge of regret.

" Me? Why do I get to drive?", she replied surprised.

" I'm feeling a bit accident prone today. Don't want to add to my battle scars.", Seeley smiled into the phone.

" Scars? What scars?", Brennan replied giddily, knowing he did posses many, but was excited that she was going to get to drive.

" If you have to ask, you haven't been my partner. Pick me up in 20 minutes. See ya.", he replied, happy he'd get to see her. He dressed quickly and looked one more time into the mirror. No visible scars he could see, just a happy guy who was going to see the woman he loved. Perfect.

4


End file.
